


Man of the Wilds

by testifytime



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Dragon Age AU, Gen, Wilder!Anders
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-05
Updated: 2014-02-06
Packaged: 2018-01-11 08:02:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1170656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/testifytime/pseuds/testifytime
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anders escapes from the Circle in 9:20 Dragon, where he meets Flemeth and is taken under her wing. With her tutelage, he becomes a Wilder; a man with the abilities of Asha'Bellanar, and a fond love for felines bigger than your average house cat - and everything continues on from there. </p>
<p>From the AU idea described in more detail at http://flamesofandraste.tumblr.com/post/75687437212/misterzevran-flamesofandraste-i-always along with an image of what Anders would look like in this AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue - Escape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders flees from the Circle, age 14, and runs for the Wilds. He meets Flemeth, and gets given an offer he simply can't refuse from a woman it seems impossible to say no to.

Anders ran.

 He darted through the Wilds at breakneck speed, his thin chest heaving and bulging as his lungs took in deep breaths of air only to release them again too quickly. He was lightheaded and dizzy, but he crashed through the undergrowth regardless, eyes wild as twigs clung to his hair and branches whipped at his hands. His muscles screamed in agony, and tears streamed down his boyish face in pain as the cold wind stung his eyes, but still he pushed his skinny little legs onwards.

Behind him, strong booming voices angrily called out commands, the sound of metal armour echoing out and ringing in his ears. Heavy boots stormed and stomped though thick, thorny bushes with ease, crushing them underfoot as the spikes brushed harmlessly against their covered bodies.

The Templars weren’t affected by pain as much as Anders was, but they were weighted down by age and metal. His lithe young body ducked under brunches and through small crannies that the Templars had to walk around, putting him one step in front of them each time. But they were grown, hardened adults used to the chase, and he was barely in his teens. Anders was weakening as fatigue settled into his muscles, with only the adrenaline from the fear of being caught keeping him going.

A Templar’s cold metal fingers brushed against the back of his head, and Anders screamed in fear. He skidded around a corner, darted through thorns and thin branches uncaring of how they tore at his tender flesh and made his hands slick with blood.

A turn to the left, then the right, then a lunge forwards at a light that peered through a gap between the black vines, and suddenly found himself in an open clearing, surrounded by tall, gangly trees and thick brambles. The Templar’s screams died out behind him, growing fainter and fainter until eventually they disappeared, and all he could hear was the rustling of the wind through the browning leaves.

Now that he’d stopped, the adrenaline in his veins started to wash away, and the pain in his body reared anew. He gave a short cry and collapsed to the ground in a crumpled heap, landing with a dull thud as he curled himself up into a ball. Tears turned into sobs as he weakly tried to stop the burning in his legs, his arms, his chest, until eventually he just lay there, gasping for breath between hiccups of despair.

A sound like flapping wings swooped down almost silently behind him, and through the pain engulfing his senses, Anders felt a tug on his magic. He stayed still and stifled his cries to whimpers as soft footsteps drew closer to him, strong and proud. For a moment, he was reminded of the way the Circle’s cats would stalk towards mice that were lame and bloodied, taking their time to listen to its terrified squeaks before ending its life.

He shoved his fist into his mouth to hide the squeaks bubbling up in his throat, and instead gagged on the copper tang of blood spilling onto his tongue from the aggravated wounds across his knuckles.

A woman’s deep, husky chuckle echoed around the clearing. “My, my, what have we here?”

Anders didn’t think, didn’t speak, just lay there in fear, trying to hold on to some small amount of pride by not soiling himself. Now he did feel like a mouse being cornered by a cat; frozen in fear of something much stronger than him, waiting for the claws to catch his waist and the fangs to sink into his neck. He squeezed his eyes shut.

“Such a sight for sorry eyes, child. You’re lucky I have no small love for Templars.” Her voice was rough yet wise, with a thrum of ancient power behind it that sent violent shivers down Anders’ spine, “They’re dead, now, although the smartest of the bunch managed to scurry away. Much like rats.”

He opened his eyes to watch her as she moved in front of him, her footsteps echoing around with light clicks. She crouched down carefully, her golden eyes searching as she locked them onto his. It felt like she was peering straight into his very core, gazing at his soul with questioning eyes and a thirst for understanding. He felt drawn in, unable to look away, even as he started to breathe faster through his nose.

Eventually, she blinked, and the connection snapped. His head spun for a moment, and nausea made his throat burn with acid before smooth fingers pressed against his forehead, and the feeling passed.

“There is much sorrow in your future,” she murmured softly as she brushed a twig from his hair, tucking the strand it was connected to behind his ear, “And yet there is also such greatness… Two different paths to choose, two different ways your life can work, and yet they will always boil down to one leap of faith.”

Her touches were soothing as she stroked a finger across his cheek, reminiscent of how his mother used to calm him down when monsters appeared in the shadows on his walls, and without his consent his body started to relax. His eyelids felt heavy, but he kept them open to watch her with wide, scared eyes, although there was also something about her that told him to clam down, told him to let her hold him, told him that she’d make everything okay; she was a mother, and a mage. And she could kill Templars.

“No matter which path you take, you will always end up in the same place. But perhaps this way, you will find yourself happier for a while in the company of others like you. Without the ever watching eye of those so-called Men of the Faith.”

Her tone turned bitter as she mentioned the Templars, rolling her eyes in disgust. Anders felt his lips curl up into a smile. Maybe he wasn’t a mouse, after all. Or maybe she was just a very kind cat.

She carefully picked him up, avoiding the worst of his cuts and bruises, before a scowl marred her face. Warmth seeped into his bones, and Anders moaned softly as the pain and the ache melted away. He let his head rest on her shoulder, warm and safe, and carefully closed his eyes.

“I have had many daughters in my time,” the woman sighed to herself, shaking her head as she shifted him into a more comfortable position, “Perhaps it is time that I had a son.”

She barked a laugh, her head thrown back in amusement, as purple magic surrounded her body.

“Maybe with this child, the worst will not come to fruition.”

As the last of her humanity stretched and changed, as wings grew on her back and scales erupted on her skin, she stared down at her new charge with something close to fondness. It was gone long before she was no longer a woman, but a dragon, and carried Anders away into the night.

 

Anders woke, two days later, in a hut that didn’t seem familiar, with a kind woman stroking his hair, and the soft scent of stew wafting towards him from the pot on the fire.

“Hush,” she whispered to him as he tried to get up, pushing down gently on his shoulders until he lay back down again, “I will not harm you, child. You are dead to the people in this world; the Templars believe they have found your body, mauled to barely recognisable pieces by some wild beast. I wish to teach you.”

Still disorientated, Anders only nodded, his eyes wide as he stared up at the woman. He’d thought the entire thing had been a dream, something his delirious and hopeful mind had made up out of desperation to escape the Circle, but her golden eyes and the pull of magic were too familiar to be made up.

“Teach me,” he whispered softly.

A smile tugged at her lips. “Then I shall.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With help from a friend, it was decided that Anders, at the start of DA2, was roughly 25. So for the prologue, set in 9:20 Dragon, he'd be 14.
> 
> Questions are more than welcome, though, try not to ask anything too soon; this chapter and the next (and also the one after that, perhaps) will be setting the scene to get Anders to Kirkwall, as well as introducing him.


	2. Chapter 1 - Teach Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snap shots of Flemeth and Anders during their lessons, from a failed transformation to a ritual to find a spirit tiger, ending with a Anders' lessons coming to an end.

Flemeth took Anders outside almost immediately after he’d agreed, deciding him fit to practice some basic magic. He staggered as he walked behind her, her pace brisk and difficult for his lethargic legs to keep up with, though she never seemed to walk too far ahead.

The Wilds were her home, it seemed, as she had no trouble navigating the winding twists and turns, stepping over things that Anders couldn’t see and awkwardly stumbled over. She had a precision about her that confounded Anders, as it hardly seemed like she had to look by her feet at all; some of the things she avoided would have been impossible for even the most advanced rogue to miss, and she always seemed to hear the call of a bird or the roar of a bear long before the sound reached their ears.

She crossed through a gap between two large, gnarled trees with a flippant wave of her hand behind her to hurry him along, disappearing behind the drooping branches. He hesitated for a moment, remembering the slickness of blood running down his hands from a thousand tiny cuts, before dashing after her. It wouldn’t do well to be untrusting of the person teaching him ancient magic.

Behind the withered trees was a clearing opened completely to the sunlight, different to the one he’d been in three days before. It was much larger than the place he’d collapsed, and instead of hard ground there was a plush padding of soft green grass. A stream trickled lazily around the left edge of the clearing, bubbling every now and again as a brave fish poked its head out of the water briefly before darting back under the water again, swimming away from the bird-shaped shadows that passed over it. Two large boulders, one on either side of the open area, stood battered and bruised facing each other, shaped – by weather or magic, Anders couldn’t tell – so that the top was flat enough for a person to stand or sit on comfortably, with ridges in the side for a person to climb up them.

Anders’ eyes trailed from the edges to the middle of the small meadow, where Flemeth stood with her arms crossed over her chest and her lips quirked up in an amused grin. He flushed red, realising that he must have been standing there with his mouth open dumbly in awe for a while, before jogging over to her.

She waited for him to stop a few feet in front of her before she spoke. “You’re a young man, but there is much potential within you; I don’t see the need to waste time on the basics when we can just get straight down to the good stuff.”

She winked as she took her place a few feet away from him, the long dragon skin cloak loose around her shoulders. She brushed a stray stand of silken black hair from her eyes, and turned to him with her lip quirked up, her hip cocked out to one side.

“Transformation is an easy concept, but very difficult to do in practice. Think hard, think deep, and look inside yourself for the animal you can most connect to, the animal that resides inside your very soul; find it, and pull.”

Anders observed her carefully as she took a few steps backwards, spreading her arms out as she closed her eyes and let her magic pool around her hands. Her eyes flickered behind her eyelids, her chest unmoving, until eventually a smile slipped across her lips and she exhaled softly. The magic ran like rivers down from her hands across her arms, slinking and sliding around her body until she was encased in a purple light.

Anders gave a shriek as Flemeth lunged forwards from the magic surrounding her, glistening scales shining in the light of the sun. He threw himself backwards and scrambled to get away from the towering dragon, her golden eyes shining with amusement at his fear. Slowly, the purple magic encased the dragon once more, shrinking until Flemeth stood, wholly human once again, in front of him.

“Do not fear magic, child. It is only with magic that one can find their true potential.”

Anders eyed Flemeth warily as she motioned for him to try the spell, shifting his gaze down to his hands. He flexed his fingers and took a deep breath, releasing it shakily as he closed his eyes. He stretched his arms out as Flemeth had done, brow drawing in embarrassment – he felt like a fool, standing with his eyes shut and his arms wide, unsure if Flemeth was there or not.

With only a little trepidation, Anders did as Flemeth had told him and searched deep inside himself. His sent little tendrils of magic out tentatively, letting them poke around at their own leisure, sifting through his very core to find whatever it was that Flemeth had shown him.

After minutes of nothing, Anders felt despair creep up on him. Flemeth had made it seem easy. She had faith in him that he’d be able to do it, and yet still he couldn’t find anything. A little sob rose up in his thin chest, and his hold on his magic broke.

A low roar filled Anders’ ears, and he gasped. A forceful tug on his magic was pulling him in, dragging him towards the prowling beast he could feel lurking in his subconscious. It was hidden behind thick bars, its honey brown eyes staring at him from the cage it was trapped within, and with reckless abandon Anders thrust all of his magic towards the bars.

The beast shot free as soon as his magic touched the cage, leaping towards him with fierce determination. But Anders was not scared. He didn’t flinch, didn’t falter. He stood there, his arms outstretched, waiting for it to reach him, for him to embrace it-

_The sound of armour clanking against cold stone, a woman’s terrified screams as they dragged off, begging, pleading them not to do it, to let her go, struggling with all her might until one of them took mercy on her and hit her temple with the hilt of their sword – hard enough to knock her out, but not to kill-_

Anders’ eyes flew open with a startled gasp.

His magic, a soft golden river flowing around his body, jerked at the sudden loss of concentration. In the back of his mind, he heard the beast’s pained howl as the light grew brighter, engulfing him in a sea of gold, blinding him as the magic changed his body, grew fur in place of skin.

When Anders could see again, the entire world seemed much smaller than it was before, and he had paws.

Wide-eyed and sheepish, Anders, now a small, golden tabby cat, peered up at the looming form of Flemeth standing over him, his ears pressing flat against his head nervously at the draw of her brow and the purse of her lips.

“Perhaps,” she said softly, her lips slowly twitching up in amusement as he shifted in place, his tail curling around his hind legs, “We should try at a slower pace. I forget how wild young magic can be.”

By the time Anders returned home that night, his body ached and his mana was drained beyond belief, but he was content in the knowledge that is shape shifter abilities, while not as good as Flemeth’s, allowed him to turn into a variety of different house cats.

He had not found the beast lurking within him again, but that, Flemeth said, would come to him in time.

 

 

                                              ===

A year later, Flemeth lead him away from the meadow for their newest lesson, an excited sparkle in her eyes.

“You, child, are a much faster learner than I would have expected. Shape shifting, glamour, blood magic without the blood… I am impressed. But I hope you know this only makes my expectations of you higher.”

“Yes, Flemeth.” Anders nodded dutifully, flushing red when Flemeth laughed; despite his time in Ferelden, his accent had never quite faded away, and seemed to be a constant source of amusement to Flemeth now that he’d managed to gather up the courage to speak.

“Good!” She crowed, clasping her hands together gleefully, “Good. As a Wilder, you will need to rely on nature and your magic alone to guide you on the path to glory. While I can teach you everything you need to know about magic, there is very little I know about nature and her ways.” Her golden eyes, now serious, bore into him. She waited until he shifted uncomfortably to let her lips twitch up into a smile, “But luckily, my magic can help you understand nature.”

She looked pointedly at the alter she had lead them to, the marble of the structure glistening beautifully in the silver moonlight. On the floor, grooves were cut out to make intricate patters and symbols, of which Anders could only understand a few – the symbol for the Fade in the middle, one to the top left for spirits, and one to the bottom right for tiger. Beyond that, tall pillars, two on either side of the grand alter, towered above them into the very heavens themselves, ending in pointed tips, as if to puncture into the sky.

“What… Is this for?” Anders asked her warily, stepping a little bit closer to the outer edge of the circle of symbols on the floor. At the very centre, he now realised, was a dull sort of mirror, crystal clear as the rivers than ran through the Wilds, yet oddly there was no reflection within the glass, even when he peered into it and expected to see his own face staring questioningly back at him.

“A ritual, of sorts,” Flemeth’s amused voice called from behind him, the soft click of her metal boots echoing around them. She didn’t step anywhere near the runes as Anders did, but instead encouraged him to get as close as he liked to them with a wave of her hand, a sly grin tugging at her lips. “And for all good rituals under the moonlight, there needs to be blood and a dance in nothing but the clothes the Maker had us born in.”

She burst into laughter at the horrified look he sent her way, her head tipped back at the force of it, her chest heaving as she took in deep breaths of air between each loud sound. Despite the magic that flowed through his veins, Anders was still a child of the Anderfels, and such flippant talk of the Maker never failed to make him squirm uncomfortably - especially when she used such a sarcastic tone of voice to show her dislike for the god. 

“I promise you, child, that there will be no dancing or nakedness. But there will still be blood, and you will need to wear clothes different to the ones you are now.” She continued on as if she didn't notice his discomfort, trailed her eyes down his form, thicker with muscle now than it was before yet still lanky, and tutted softly. “They will be the clothes you wear from this day onwards… And perhaps they will suit you better than those you wear now.”

Anders dressed in the clothes she provided as Flemeth tended to the ritual itself. He could hear her muttering softly to herself, whether as a chant or as an unintentional speaking of thoughts he couldn’t tell, and heard the soft clink of pestle against mortar.

He turned back to the mirror in the middle of the rune circle, his eyes widening as he saw, for a brief few moments, his reflection in the dull glass. He knew it was himself, and yet he looked so different; eyes and hair still the same, the reflection had muscles much bigger than his own, his body tattooed with tiger stripes across his face, his arms, his chest all the way to his hips. The tigerskin cloak that hung loosely around his shoulders seemed to fit the reflection just fine, and the long, robe-like leather cloth that dragged near his calves sat quite comfortably above his knees in the mirror.

He blinked, and the image was gone.

He stared at the mirror, as shiny and unreflective as it was before, for a few uncertain moments, before Flemeth’s voice calling him over towards the altar tore him away from the runes.

“Your blood is essential to this ritual, child. In blood runs the magic of all beings, even if it lies more dormant in some than it does in others.”

She picked up the mortar she’d been crushing the ingredients for the ritual in, the liquid bubbling softly inside a light blue colour. She poured it into a golden chalice, murmured a few quiet words over the rim, and sprinkled a small pinch of something white from the altar’s flat surface. The liquid bubbled frantically for a moment before settling down once more.

“Hold out your hand, Anders,” she commanded him gently, placing the chalice down and reaching for a long, thin sacrificial dagger she’d hung from her waist, examining the silver blade in the moonlight, “I won’t need much blood – barely even trickle – but be prepared for the cut to stay as it is; there needs to be a steady flow of blood.”

Anders obediently held out his hand, letting Flemeth make the cut with a hiss through clenched teeth. One, two, three drops fell into the blue mix, and with a soft word from Flemeth it started to swirl, changing through reds and blues and purples before finally slowing to settle on a shimmering golden.

Moments later, Anders was standing on the mirror in the middle of the runes, the golden liquid from the chalice poured between each indent and glowing softly with its own light. Flemeth circled around Anders once, her eyes sharp as she took in his form, and not for the first time Anders found himself shivering in fear from her very presence.

“A beast will make its way from the forests, child, and nature will give you your guide. Do not show fear, do not hesitate… You will have to learn to leap, if you wish to learn to fly.”

Her golden eyes pierced through him, narrowed and intense, as she took her place by the altar. A cold chill ran down his spine as she stood with her back turned to him, her hands covered in purple magic as she pressed them to the altar, a deep, throaty chant spilling from her lips.

For a while, nothing happened. Only the sound of his own frantic heartbeat and Flemeth’s chanting echoed around in his head, the light breeze having died down at Flemeth’s first spoken words. Anders swallowed thickly, shuffling nervously around as he stared with wide eyes around him, his pulse hammering away all throughout his body – to the same rhythm, he realised quickly, as Flemeth’s chant.

A soft, distant howl broke the silence. The forests to his left started rustling, parting way for the wolf stalking towards him, its quiet growls getting louder and louder, as is drew near. Anders felt his heart leap into his throat as a wolf, covered in almost beautiful curling scars, stalked out of the bushes and crept towards him, its teeth bared as a hungry glint shone in its shining green eyes. His hand was still bleeding, the blood dripping rhythmically onto the glass of the mirror below him, pooling around his feet.

Fear crept into Anders’ mind as the wolf stepped up to the edge of the runes, bowing its head down low with a deep snarl. It sniffed at the golden liquid filling the symbols and angrily snapped its jaws, stepping backwards a few feet before eyeing him critically. There was more intelligence behind the wolf’s eyes than Anders would have ever wanted to see there.

The wolf crouched down just slightly, kicking its legs out behind him to get a good grip in the earth, as it judged Anders with careful green eyes. Anders ripped his gaze away from the beast to stare desperately at Flemeth, but her back was still turned to him, her voice still calm and steady as she chanted, and cold fear shot down his spine when he realised that she would not be helping him.

The wolf wriggled its way backwards a little bit, teeth bared into a devilish grin, and begun its charge.

Anders, seeing death flying towards him, screamed.

A loud, deafening roar echoed around the ritual site, a terrifying reply to Anders’ desperate call for help. Within seconds, a hulking black blur shot out from the right and barrelled the wolf down before it could reach the outer layer of the runes, snarling and furious as it wrestled the wolf down.

The wolf snapped back, but soon its green eyes widened at the sight of the shadow pinning it down, easily twice its size if not more. It gave a distressed yelp and struggled to wriggle free of the shape’s huge paws, only to receive a sharp nip to the neck for its troubles. Almost instantly, the wolf stilled, whimpering in fear.

The shadow stepped back, taking its teeth from the wolf’s neck and its paws from the wolf’s sides, letting it run away with its tail between its legs. It then turned, carefully, towards Anders, sitting down calmly by the edge of the runes.

Anders stared at the beast for a long moment. A tiger. It was a – admittedly large – tiger, its head easily coming up to Anders’ waist even when it was sitting down, its soft brown eyes observing him with a  calmness Anders wouldn’t have expected from a wild beast. Without thinking, Anders took his leap and stretched his arm out to reach for the feline, fingers not quite reaching the edge of the liquid filled runes.

The golden light was growing brighter, Flemeth’s chants growing louder, and yet, somehow, Anders hardly noticed any of this. His eyes were locked on to the tiger’s, waiting for the beast’s reaction to his outstretched hand. His heart was beating faster in his chest, and below him, the mirror’s glass started to react.

The tiger took a step into the liquid rune circle, pressed its head to Anders’ hand, and everything became consumed in a flash of bright blue flames.

…

Anders groggily opened his eyes, only to be blinded by the sun. He hissed in pain and covered his eyes, waiting until he felt as if he could see without having them melt in his head before opening them once more. The sunlight still burnt a bit, but he could open them into a slight squint just fine, and so he looked around warily for any sign of Flemeth.

The witch, it turned out, hadn’t moved from her place the night before, but was now facing him with her arse resting just slightly on the edge of the altar, a small smirk on her face. It took Anders a while to decipher, but he eventually realised that she was both pleased and happy with something just a little to Anders’ left.

Anders’ brow furrowed at her expression, but she refused to look away from whatever it was she was staring at. His curiosity piqued, Anders looked to the side-

And came face to face with the tiger from last night, its eyes no longer the soft brown he’d first seen, but now a glowing ethereal blue.

Flemeth’s husky chuckle barely registered in Anders’ ears. “It has been waiting for you to wake up, child. Your spirit guide into nature. And perhaps more.”

Anders reached out a tentative hand to stroke the tiger’s great head, gingerly running his fingers through its thick fur. The beast purred gently, its eyes sliding shut, as it pressed into his hand and nuzzled against it as if it were an ordinary house cat. Anders’ lips pulled up into a wide grin as he flung his arms around the tiger’s neck, joyful laughter bubbling up in his chest.

He snuggled his way into the tiger’s neck, taking a deep breath of its soft fur and the weak scent of magic buried well beneath the beast’s rippling flesh. His grin split across his face as the tiger purred louder, dragging up one huge paw to hold him tight against its warm body, rubbing its scent glands all over him, until Anders smelt so much of giant tiger that he could barely smell the metallic tang of the crusting blood on his hand.

Flemeth cleared her throat behind them, a deep, amused chuckle rumbling low in her chest as he pulled back and stared at her sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck in embarrassment.

“Come along, child. There are still some secrets I can teach you yet.”

 

                                                ===

 

Three years later, his body filled out into the muscle it would always have, his shoulders broadened from the slimness of a boy to the squared, if still slightly curved, structure of a man, a healthy stubble now littering his jaw, Anders paced in front of the two large boulders in the meadow he’d first started his training in.

A small smile slipped across his lips at the memory. They’d seemed much bigger then than they did now, battered and broken from many years of him perfecting his spells on them. Everything had, truthfully; he’d been a small child, and a slow developer, although most Anderfellian children were before their first growth spurt. Nothing seemed nearly as large and intimidating now.

A low growl drew his attention down to the tiger laying patiently by his feet, eyeing him in annoyance at his constant pacing. His smile soon turned into a wide grin; having a giant tiger also helped to make things seem less intimidating, of course.

Before he could start pacing again, and before the tiger could become frustrated enough to wrestle him to the ground to stop him, the sound of metal footsteps echoed around the small clearing. Flemeth had arrived, at last.

“Flemeth,” Anders greeted with a low, sarcastic bow, the tigerskin hood slipping down over his eyes slightly before resettling as he straightened himself out, “You are late. You said to meet when the sun was directly overhead.”

“Yes, well, that was long before some foolish Templars saw it fit to invade my home and attempt to burn down my house.”

Anders laughed at the annoyance in her voice, greatly amused by the disgust written across her face, and only managing to laugh harder when she glared at him. “It is good to know that I will receive such sympathy from you upon being told that my house nearly burnt to the ground with me still inside it.”

“Fire can’t kill a dragon, Flemeth.” He snorted, one eyebrow raised as he finally managed to stifle his laughter into weak hiccup-like giggles. That was something she’d told him long ago.

“And neither can it burn down the nest,” she agreed, an amused smile on her face, “Although that is hardly the reason I told you to meet me here.”

Her tone, previous soft and light, changed as her expression hardened, becoming more commanding. Anders felt the last of his laughter free him as he stood up straight, attentive. The tiger sat up with a rumble low in its throat, intelligent blue eyes narrowed on the witch.

“You’ve learnt all you can from me, child. I think it is time you left to make your own pride.”

Anders’ eyes went wide in shock at her words, but before he could utter any of his own she held her hand up and sent him a sharp glare, chasing anything he could have said in protest from his tongue.

“You do not need me anymore, and so it is time for you to go. The People will know you now, should you ever need their help or advice, or should they ever require you, as they are sure to do.” Her serious expression broke for a moment as she cracked a sly grin at him. “They call you Revas’inlin, did you know? It supposedly means ‘Freedom with blood’. But I’m hardly fluent in Elvish.”

Her grin slowly slipped away. Anders wasn’t sure what he was supposed to say. He knew he was ready to live on his own, knew it was the end of his training – or all that Flemeth could give him, at least. And yet, somehow, this felt as if she were throwing him out to the wolves well before he was ready to stand on his own two feet.

“Trust in me, child. I shall never be far away, should you need me. But I know you will do well on your own.”

She smiled at him then, a true smile, small and soft. He remembered, for a second, another woman smiling at him much like Flemeth was, her cheeks a light rosy red with happiness and her blonde hair tied back into a bun.

“Thank you,” he managed to choke out eventually, unsure when the tears had started welling up in his eyes, or when Flemeth had started to look so apologetic, her head tipped to one side, “Flemeth, I – ”

She held up her hand, and he closed his mouth so hard his teeth clicked together.

“I know, child. I know.”

She gave him one last, lingering look, her eyes glistening with fondness, sadness and… acceptance. Anders’ brow drew down into a confused frown, but before he could dwell on it for too long the witch’s purple magic consumed her form, and with a final screeching farewell, she took off into the air, leaving him behind in the meadow that suddenly felt much larger and intimidating than it ever had before.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As Tamahariel on Tumblr said it'd be interesting to see, I added in some of the main points of Anders' lessons with Flemeth. It wasn't what I first intended to do, but the idea stuck, and so I swapped around the chapters a bit. Hopefully I haven't given too much of his magic away!

**Author's Note:**

> And thus begins a new AU. Just as a quick note, this is my first multi-chapter fic, so I will try to keep the updates fairly regular. If I can't, however, know that I will follow a set guideline; I will post a chapter as I finish writing the next one, which means that if I happen to write two chapters after I post one, then you'll be lucky and get two updates in one day. 
> 
> Any questions about the AU can be asked, of course, so feel free to ask me what you need. I will follow the DA2 timeline, after all; you could see this as a 'what if' scenario, if it pleases you. 
> 
> Apart from that, I have nothing else that seems to be most important at the moment. So have fun, and definitely look at the link provided in the summary; misterzevran on Tumblr did some beautiful fanart of the new Anders look.


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